Some Black Stories
by evadnekapaneos
Summary: A collection of one-shots, centering around the Black-sisters. 1) Bella goes to torture Dromeda; 2) a conversation between Cissy and her husband; 3) Cissy-Dromeda-reconciliation, feat. Winky; 4) Sirius got a cold; 5) Kreacher's betrayal.
1. The Wrong Time to Remember

_Disclaimer: I donʼt own Harry Potter or anything else from his world. The picture is an outtake from_ _Franz Stassen_ _ʼs ʻWaltraute implora vanamente Brünnhilde di restituire lʼanello alle figlie del Reno_ _ʼ (I guess the original title is German, but Iʼve taken it - like the following quote - from a booklet published by the Fenice)._

 _A/N The scene takes place during DH, simultaneously to the end of Bill's and Fleur's wedding. Please note that things here are described from Bellaʼs POV which is naturally not mine nor is the language she uses one I personally approve of (formally put). And if you ever should happen to discuss the stars of Orion with an astronomer, remember that the stress in Bellatrix (*du̯eln-eh_ _2_ _-trih_ _2_ _-k-s) is on the a._

* * *

ʻMit blasser Wange,

du bleiche Schwester,

was willst du Wilde von mir?ʼ

Richard Wagner, _Götterdämmerung_

* * *

The spell was broken and a handsome, little house appeared before the handful of Ministry officials who had been sent to accompany them. Naturally, the largest party had gone to the Weasleys as there was strong evidence that the boy would be there, but she had explicitly demanded to come here and show to this filth its place. And gracious as her Lord was, he had acceded to her pleas, had honoured her with the chance of purging her familyʼs name from this shame.

ʻThereʼs light on the ground and on the first floor,ʼ Bella said to her husband in a low voice, both keeping their faces hidden under hoods. Not all the Ministry officials were Imperiused and they didnʼt want to risk questions or even some stupid attempt to arrest them. That would only cost time and might warn the cockroaches in the house. The Ministry sheep better remained nicely outside, securing the entrances and not witnessing the methods of interrogation she and Rodolphus would most artfully apply.

ʻAnd?ʼ grunted her husband. ʻWho takes which floor?ʼ

Bella cocked her head to the side, trying to guess where she was most likely to find which disgusting blemish on her noble life. ʻWe better capture them separately, just in case they would be as stupid as to lie,ʼ she muttered. ʻOne of us has to debilitate the person downstairs at the same time as the other goes upstairs ─ keep them separated for the interrogation.ʼ

ʻThen Iʼd better take the one downstairs,ʼ suggested her husband. ʻThe other will have more time to prepare so the better fighter should do that.ʼ

Bella considered this for a second, then made an acquiescent sound and quickly began to stride towards the house, Rodolphus following in silence.

There were no further enchantments on the door and it swung open without a sound. Bella nodded her husband towards the door - probably leading to the kitchen - through which gleamed a thin beam of light. Rodolphus directed his wand at the door and Bella turned on the spot, Apparating to the floor above.

On the dark corridor upstairs, it was as easy as downstairs to identify the inhabited room by the light, shining through the gap between door and floor. A loud bang sounded from downstairs and Bella lost no time, but blasted the door out of its way, disarming the sole occupant of the room. Her wand outstretched and a smile stretching over her face, she strut through the doorway.

ʻBella?ʼ

No other remark would have wrenched Bella out of her grim resolution to carry out just punishment, but - combined with the woman who had uttered the word in a calmly surprised tone - it made Bella stagger to a halt and stare while a man started to scream downstairs in agony.

Bella had found what she was ashamed to have once called a sister, standing behind a clothes horse, the hand still raised, most likely having been in the process of folding socks by magic.

Bella immediately recovered from the moment of stupefaction and her Cruciatus curse hit the shameless creature squarely in the chest, its (yes, it didnʼt deserve any other pronoun) yells instantly mingling with its Mudblood-husbandʼs further off as it crashed down on the carpet. Bella threw her head back and laughed before she marched towards the filthy thing writhing on the floor. She intended to blast the clothes horse separating them out of the way, but, to her own surprise, her eyes lingered for a moment on the neatly stapled clothes and - instead of performing the intended act of violence - she only let the frame float to the side before she crouched down next to her cringing and howling victim.

Letting the feeling of dominance flood through her and cherishing her power, she watched the traitorous vermin with relish, at long last lifting the spell after she had slowly counted to ten.

ʻWhere is Harry Potter?ʼ

Bella coolly contemplated the ruthless thing that tried to push itself upright without letting out a sound of pain. Again, Bella counted to ten, smirking as the haze of pain slowly lifted from the Mudstrumpetʼs eyes. Then she hissed, ʻAnswer!ʼ

ʻI donʼt know.ʼ

ʻ _Crucio!_ ʼ

Relishing the dirty creatureʼs horrible shrieks, Bella closed her eyes as the anguished howls rent the air. Downstairs, a manʼs outcries of pain could be heard simultaneously again. She frowned. They would better torture them apart so that the two pigs could hear each other screaming. That would be a far more subtle pain. But subtlety had never been Rodolphusʼs strength. With a sigh, she lifted the curse again. To her disappointment, the man downstairs also stopped screaming. Rodolphus really was an idiot. Irritated, she turned to the filth before her.

ʻWhere is Harry Potter?ʼ

ʻI donʼt know.ʼ

ʻWe know that he came here, you fool,ʼ Bella hissed. ʻHow can you pathetic excuse of a witch believe to fool us!ʼ

ʻThey took a Portkey,ʼ answered the lawless abnormality tonelessly. ʻI do not know its destination.ʼ

ʻYouʼd better rack your brains for the information. For I will not hesitate to torture you into insanity.ʼ

ʻBella,ʼ it dared to answer calmly, ʻI have never been afraid of you as a child, donʼt think that I start this now.ʼ

Bella stared in the perfectly composed and all too familiar pair of eyes. As much as she had wanted to forget that thing before her, she knew it still well enough to do not doubt the truth in that sentence. But it was not important. Important was whether Andro- no, it truly didnʼt deserve a name since it defiled its nature - whether it knew where Harry Potter was. And Bella had the notion that torturing the piece of dirt would not help her gain any information.

Downstairs, the man roared in agony. Bella allowed herself to grin as she watched the disgusting beingʼs suddenly far more troubled expression and she felt the smallest bit of fond towards Rodolphus.

ʻProbably you fear for the smear of filth in the kitchen,ʼ she whispered. ʻProbably you want to end its punishment.ʼ

The anguish on the Mudharlotʼs face disappeared behind an expression of utmost calm. Despite all her disgust, Bella felt a small twinge of respect towards An- it.

ʻIs there a way to spare him?ʼ asked the shameless lump of mud, sounding perfectly nonchalant.

ʻNo,ʼ spit Bella.

ʻThen there is no point to fret about him before you,ʼ stated the creature composedly.

ʻYou could beg,ʼ suggested Bella sweetly. ʻAnd spill everything you know. Then I might consider stopping what happens to that excrement downstairs.ʼ

ʻI know nothing,ʼ said the cockroach, to Bellaʼs anger copying her sweet tone. She would not have dreamt that Andro- it could have the audacity - the stupidity - to challenge her.

ʻThen we can listen here to Rodolphus cleaning,ʼ smiled Bella, keeping her tone as sugary as she could and only keeping herself from patting the otherʼs cheek because she didnʼt want to besmear her hand. ʻOh, and you could also try begging.ʼ

ʻWould that be of any use?ʼ asked the blood-traitor in an unnervingly polite tone.

ʻWhy donʼt you try?ʼ breathed Bella.

The brazen being looked coolly at her for some seconds and seemed to calculate. Letting the feeling of power consume her, Bella prepared herself to enjoy the bit of cankerʼs internal struggles.

ʻBella, dearest,ʼ suddenly exclaimed Andro- it - the thing - the... and grasped both of Bellaʼs hands. ʻMy sister, my beloved elder. You know how I always trusted you and cherished you and looked up to you. You wonʼt leave me now, you wonʼt hurl me away from you? We were always there for one another, we understood each other. We are a part of each other. My pain is your pain, your pain is mine. Bella, Bella my, Bella, sister dear.ʼ

Shocked, Bella tried to tear her hands away from her si- it. She had expected plenty of tears and pleas for mercy, certainly not a shower of tenderness. She still held her wand in one of her hands that that thing kept pressed to its chest, drawing her towards it as if she- it really desired to be close to her.

Desperate to get away from the otherʼs touch and words, she managed to twirl her wand enough so that she could send off a Scorching Hex at the revolting being.

In the second in which Andro-its touch loosened, Bella freed her hands and jumped to her feet, racing to the other end of the room, collapsing against the wall. She was breathing hard and looked back at the piece of dirt on the floor in shock and shame. Her behaviour had just been humiliatingly close to a flight.

She started to pace back and forth the small space between the window and a cupboard, desperate to regain her composure. She was certainly not going to stop any pain that Rodolphus inflicted on the Mudblood, wailing in the kitchen. Not for any bit of information and certainly not for any sentimentalities. And yet, her chest was still heaving with uncontrollable breathing. She wanted to calm down, she needed to emanate control and grandeur to the worthless slut before her. She certainly couldnʼt use the stinging sensation that right now troubled her sight.

She let her body fall against the cool windowpane, closing her eyes. Only then she noticed that she had her arms around herself, the hands painfully gripping her upper arms and the nails piercing the flesh, her wand pointed uselessly at some random spot behind her. At the same moment, she also remembered that it was hardly reasonable to close her eyes in the middle of an interrogation with her victim still perfectly capable of moving.

But as much as she realised all this, she didnʼt change her position. She pressed her cheek against the glass, pressing her eyes together and slowly releasing the grip on her own arms. Almost automatically, she shoved her wand back into her robes, ignoring the fact that this was the least reasonable act of all the unreasonable things she was currently doing. And then she opened her eyes.

Feeling completely detached from her usual self, she watched Dromeda, no it! it! it! it!, getting to her - its feet, holding its wand again. And yet, Bella didnʼt move, she felt simply tired and ignored the part of her brain that told her to immediately disarm the blood-traitor opposite her and curse the creature into a black abyss of despair. Right now, she was defenceless due to her own fault; there had happened nothing that could even remotely excuse this. She had dropped her guard and had rendered herself to the mercy of her sister - it. Only...

Bella was no more scared of Andromeda than Andromeda had been scared of her. And Bella watched as her si- (ʻit!ʼ hissed some remote part of her brain) acted as irrationally as she did. Andromeda turned her back to Bella and walked behind the clothes horse, directing her wand at the remaining socks that one by one began to fold themselves again.

Bellaʼs feet carried her towards Andro- (IT!) -meda before her mind had formed any coherent thought and she gripped her sisterʼs wrists, much like Andromeda had done before though she kept their hands on the wires of the clothes horse, staring at them and panting with an unexplainable exhaustion.

ʻBella...ʼ

Bellaʼs head snapped up to look at the face belonging to the far too calm and even voice. Andromeda looked back at her with a blank, unreadable expression. Bella stared at the face that had once been an almost perfect mirror of her own. Something in her chest contracted and impeded her breathing. Bella had avoided her own reflection ever since she had come back from prison, aware of what she had lost. But the loss had always been outweighed by what she had gained. She had not lost faith, she had not lied like so many others. She had been faithful, the Council of Magical Law remembered her declaration of unwavering loyalty, she was trusted by the greatest wizard of all time.

All this seemed to crumble as she contemplated her sisterʼs face. Of course, there were some first wrinkles and crowʼs feet around Dromedaʼs eyes and she looked tired, but her hair still fell down to her waist, thick and shining and, for the first time, Bella was truly aware of the deplorable state of her own hair. Her sisterʼs peaceful features contrasted painfully with her own haggard, gaunt face. The uncomfortable stinging in her eyes returned with a crushing feeling of despair. Why was she the one who had lost so much when she had always been obedient and her sister had everything despite her treachery and betrayal?

ʻBella...ʼ

Instinctively, without pausing to think what she was doing, ignoring the fact that her sister had a wand in her hand, Bella let go of Andromedaʼs wrists and threw her arms around her sister, clutching her so tight that the clothes horse cut into her hip.

Closing her eyes and drowning in the familiarity of the touch, Bella forgot the span of over twenty-five years that had kept her from touching, even from seeing her sister. She forgot that she had always hated to be embraced - had in fact not embraced anyone ever since she had come back from prison and buried her face in her sisterʼs hair. Her scent of soap and cake was so familiar that her aching eyes started to water and her whole body shook worse than ever.

Something wooden landed with a thud on the ground and Bella instinctively knew that Andromeda had dropped her wand. She almost jumped back when her sisterʼs arms closed around her and returned the hug. A sob escaped Bella as she remembered how Cissy had feebly attempted to embrace her when they had met again, but immediately stopped with a pronounced air of relief when Bella had shied away from her. And any contact approaching closeness with Rodolphus was so long ago that she had no idea (and had not the least interest in remembering) when it could have happened.

For years, there had been only one person she had wanted to be close to and his presence had been one of awe and admiration, far too high for her to ever aspire to. And suddenly she was sobbing at the shoulder of a woman she had considered her worst enemy and stain a moment ago.

Bella wanted to see reason, but she didnʼt dare anymore to push Andromeda away for her sister might then see how wet her face was. She couldnʼt give her the satisfaction to know that she had cried. But the longer she continued with her arms around Andromeda, the more she remembered countless little details she had never thought about since she had been sent to Azkaban or even since her life had gained a purpose in the service of the Dark Lord.

But the familiar unfamiliarity of Andromedaʼs proximity sent her back so many years, to so many memories that had lain forgotten in the most remote recesses of her brain: Andromeda faithfully scribbling down whatever she dictated her, Andromeda chiding her when she ate the dough during the two of them baking together, Andromeda styling her hair with a solemn air, Andromeda running towards her after she had returned for the first time from school, Andromeda listening with round eyes as she told fairy tales to her. Bella had forgotten what a large part Andromeda had once hold in her heart and ever more tears streaked down her cheeks.

ʻDromeda,ʼ she finally croaked, forsaking all her pride, ʻDrommy little, come back with me.ʼ

Her sister fidgeted in her arms and Bella reinforced her hug. ʻDrommy, listen,ʼ she whispered. ʻYouʼve made a mistake, that can happen to anybody. Itʼs nothing that canʼt be fixed. We simply go down and tell Rodolphus to get rid of that thing in the kitchen and then we go to Cissy together and everything will be as it should. Come, Drommy sweetheart, come back with me.ʼ

ʻBella...ʼ whispered her sister weakly and Bella pressed her closer to herself.

ʻOh Dromeda,ʼ she spoke on. ʻWeʼll forgive you, youʼll forget these wasted years, weʼll put it all in the most distant past and everything will be as it has to be. Just wait a moment until weʼve cleaned up all the dirt that has been amassed during these unfortunate years-ʼ

Andromeda let out a sob and Bella rocked her softly.

ʻDonʼt worry, love,ʼ she crooned. ʻOnce weʼve eliminated all the traces of this escapade, youʼll be one of us again. Oh Dromeda, my little Drommy, how I missed you.ʼ

Andromeda moved her head and another sob escaped her.

ʻDonʼt cry, Drommy dear,ʼ said Bella. ʻEverything is going to be fine. Youʼre going to be free again, weʼll wipe out that thing in the kitchen and then that unfortunate result together with her beast and then, itʼs just the three of us like it should be. Oh Drommy, how much I love you.ʼ

ʻI did love you, Bella.ʼ

Bella pulled away from her sister and took her head between her hands, smiling and trying to ignore how alien her claw-like fingers looked on her sisterʼs tear-stained cheeks.

ʻLetʼs go, darling.ʼ

A quiver went through Andromedaʼs whole body and her eyes widened. ʻI canʼt,ʼ she breathed.

ʻOf course you can,ʼ said Bella, smiling encouragingly. ʻYouʼll be all right.ʼ

ʻNo.ʼ

ʻWhy?ʼ

Andromeda closed her eyes and two more tears welled down her cheeks as she opened her mouth, ʻBecause I love him.ʼ

Bella froze, her fingernails piercing in her sisterʼs skin. Her happily bloated heart was pierced and burst through her whole body, filling every inch of her with shame and wrath. Her breathing hitched and a red glow set before her eyes. It couldnʼt be! After what she had done and said, it couldnʼt be. This ungratefulness! This betrayal! It was beyond anybodyʼs wildest imagination.

With all the force she could muster, she hurled her sisterʼs head away, her nails leaving bloody traces on Andromedaʼs cheek. In the next moment, Bella had snatched her wand from her robes and thrown her sisterʼs body hard against the wall. She lifted the clothes horse to the ceiling and let it crash on Andromedaʼs limp body. Then she turned on her heels and jumped out of the room, shutting the door with so much force so that it got unhinged. She ran down, down, down the stairs and nearly ran into her husband who waited for her at the bottom.

ʻIs it dead?ʼ asked Bella harshly, nodding towards the kitchen.

ʻNo,ʼ answered Rodolphus and Bella felt all to acutely how he stared at her wet face. ʻShould I...?ʼ

Bella gripped the handrail so hard that her knuckles turned white. ʻNo,ʼ she then choked and, raising her voice so that she could be heard through the whole house, added, ʻWe can do that after we kill their brood. Let them know that first.ʼ

She didnʼt pay attention to Rodolphusʼs nod, but grabbed his hand, hating him for his surprised look. Covering her head with the hood, she stormed out of the house, only desiring to get to the point where they could Disapparate.

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 _A/N Thanks for reading, hope you found it somewhat interesting and... what did you think? Is Bella still in character or too nice? Review? Thanks._


	2. Prison of the Mind

_The one-shot is dedicated to_ _ **Relephant**_ _, whose review inspired me to write this story. Thank you, hopefully you donʼt regret it now upon reading!_

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 _Disclaimer: I donʼt own Harry Potter_

 _A/N This conversation takes place during DH, about a day after Harry, Ron and Hermioneʼs escape from the manor._

* * *

 _No, I will speak as liberal as the north;_

 _Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,_

 _All, all, cry shame against me, yet Iʼll speak._

Shakespeare, _Othello_

* * *

On a magnificent four-poster bed with a black silk canopy inwrought with silver threads, lay a man. Despite being only middle age, he looked frail, battered and worn, every visible inch of his skin covered with bruises. For many hours he had barely moved, only his chest rising and falling irregularly and sometimes a small pained sound escaping his lips. But at long last he stirred, causing a woman sitting a short distance away at a little table to turn. She waved down the hoop frame on which a needle had been busily stitching and got to her feet, cautiously approaching the man.

ʻWhere...ʼ he mumbled weakly, trying to lift a hand.

ʻItʼs all right,ʼ muttered the woman, leaning over him. ʻIʼm here.ʼ

The manʼs eyelids fluttered. ʻCissy?ʼ

ʻYes, dear?ʼ

The man sighed and the line of his mouth tried to form itself into a smile. ʻYou... my wife... youʼre... here...ʼ he managed to choke with some difficulty.

ʻOf course Iʼm here,ʼ whispered Cissy as she sat down on the bed, diligently avoiding to disturb the manʼs reclined body. ʻWhere else would I be?ʼ

ʻAre... you...ʼ

ʻIʼm fine. Dracoʼs getting along too, heʼs asleep now. Youʼre the one weʼve been worrying about.ʼ

ʻWhere...ʼ

ʻWhere he is?ʼ

The man tried to nod and winced.

ʻI believe he is downstairs. It seems heʼs finished his quest abroad.ʼ

The manʼs eyes flew open. ʻHeʼs - staying here!ʼ

ʻDonʼt,ʼ said Cissy soothingly, caressing the manʼs hair. ʻYou need rest. Donʼt worry, Iʼm here.ʼ

ʻDonʼt worry,ʼ repeated her husband bitterly. ʻYes, thereʼs nothing to worry any longer. Weʼre doomed anyway.ʼ

ʻShhh,ʼ made Cissy, gently putting a finger on his mouth. ʻYouʼll be all right, Lucius. Weʼll all be all right.ʼ

Lucius looked up at the woman with an expression of utmost despair. ʻDonʼt tell me you really believe this.ʼ

Cissy gulped and attempted to smile. ʻWhat else can we do?ʼ

Lucius squinted and turned his head away.

ʻLucius,ʼ said Cissy, a desperate edge to her voice. ʻWe - I must continue to hope. Can you give up like that when Draco still has a future before himself?ʼ

ʻHe doesnʼt have any,ʼ choked Lucius. ʻIʼve ruined it. Iʼm... Iʼm sorry, Cissy. Iʼve brought us all to this point. I failed-ʼ

ʻDonʼt!ʼ exclaimed Cissy wildly, surprising her husband by jumping to her feet and walking hastily around the room. ʻLucius, donʼt. Draco doesnʼt suffer because of you, but because of that man. Oh, what would I do to bring-ʼ

ʻCissy!ʼ shouted Lucius, jerking upright, but then falling back in his bed with a pained moan.

ʻCareful, dear,ʼ said Cissy, returning to the bed and rearranging her husbandʼs cushion. ʻYouʼre injured, take care-ʼ

ʻTake care?ʼ repeated Lucius. ʻThen why do you talk like that? If he hears you-ʼ

ʻIʼve put enough spells around the room,ʼ said Cissy, narrowing her eyes. ʻNobody can hear us, Iʼve ensured our protections as thoroughly as I could.ʼ

ʻHeʼll be suspicious-ʼ

ʻThis is our house, weʼve got the right of some privacy.ʼ

Lucius raised a hand to his forehead with some difficulty and covered his eyes. ʻHe hasnʼt left us any rights, we- Iʼve failed.ʼ

ʻLucius...ʼ she said hesitantly, sitting down on the bed again.

He looked at her and her worried expression. With a poorly suppressed groan of pain, he reached out to take her hands and pressed them.

ʻLucius, how did you fail?ʼ

ʻWh-ʼ Lucius looked at his wife as if he had never seen her before, his hands falling in her lap. ʻItʼs obvious, isnʼt it? Because of me, the Dark Lord never heard the prophecy and now Potter has escaped again from our house.ʼ

ʻWhy do we want Potter dead again?ʼ

ʻBecause... what did you just ask?ʼ

ʻIʼm serious,ʼ said Cissy, nervously glancing at the door. ʻItʼs become so... unreal. Didnʼt you join to give us back the respect we deserve, wasnʼt it our goal to remove from our midst those unworthy of magic?ʼ She waited just long enough to allow Lucius to incline his head. ʻThen why do we have to kill a boy of wizarding decent?ʼ

ʻHe... he...ʼ stammered Lucius, staring with increasing panic at his wife. ʻHeʼs a blood traitor... heʼs a threat to the Dark Lord, heʼs...ʼ

ʻArthur Weasley is a blood traitor, you always said so. And still, heʼs not been killed though he didnʼt hide in the least.ʼ

ʻItʼs... itʼs... Cissy, stop asking. If he finds out-ʼ

ʻI must,ʼ breathed Cissy, tears rising in her eyes. She lifted a hand and angrily brushed them away. ʻI must ask, I must... Iʼve trusted your lead all this time and now-ʼ

ʻI am sorry, Cissy, itʼs-ʼ

ʻDonʼt,ʼ she interrupted softly. ʻI donʼt blame you. But the Dark Lord abuses you so much, so unfairly, so outrageously-ʼ

ʻKeep quiet,ʼ whimpered Lucius, only causing Cissy to shake her head energetically.

ʻThe truth is, we canʼt be sure how long you will still be around.ʼ Cissy pressed a hand before her face for a moment, shaking with her whole body until she had regained enough control. ʻThis is about nothing but about himself. Itʼs not about wizards, regaining their true status in the world, this is about the dominion of one person of dubious heritage-ʼ

ʻCissy...ʼ

ʻWe were far better off under Fudge. There was no need to expose ourselves so much-ʼ

ʻPlease-ʼ

ʻRemember your father?ʼ she said, glaring at the wall and her hands crossed before her chest. ʻHe knew how to stay safe. He could bring that Mudblood minister down without leaving any traces. _We_ didnʼt need any self-declared "Lord", we had our way without him. Our goals, we can achieve them by more inconspicuous and comfortable methods. Because no one has the right to command our family around!ʼ

ʻBut... there were always Mudbloods around and now theyʼre being eliminated... that is a very good thing,ʼ timidly interjected her husband.

His wife didnʼt appear to hear him. On the contrary, she kept her eyes on the wall with a deeply musing look. Finally, she turned to look at him with a eery smile on her lips. ʻTell me, Lucius, do you think Harry Potter can bring him down?ʼ

Lucius seemed beyond words, his breathing loud and fear clouding his eyes. ʻCissy,ʼ he finally whispered. ʻThe Dark Lord is the greatest wizard of all time, no one can bring him down.ʼ

ʻChance has favoured Harry Potter over and over again.ʼ

ʻChance can win no duels. And even if Potter could be considered a serious contestant, his enmity with Draco makes any cooperation between us impossible.ʼ

ʻEnmity?ʼ

ʻDraco has been humiliated by Potter over and over again. Of course they hate each other.ʼ

ʻI donʼt think Draco hates Potter - nor any of his friends.ʼ

Lucius blinked. ʻOf course he hates him - them. Of course Draco hates blood-traitors and Mudbloods.ʼ

ʻThen why, tell me, why did Draco try to protect them?ʼ

He gaped at her. ʻDraco did no such thing. He never would,ʼ he tried to say with conviction though the attempt was rather botched.

ʻDraco refused to identify any of them. Donʼt tell me that he couldnʼt recognize Potter. Or at least the other two. And yet, he refused to acknowledge their identities. So, I donʼt care a hoot about what the Dark Lord wants, but tell me, Lucius, what does Draco want?ʼ

ʻHonour... and glory... for our family?ʼ

A small smile appeared on Cissyʼs lips as her husbandʼs voice rose at the end of his stammer. ʻAnd how,ʼ she said dreamily, taking his face in her hands, ʻdo we help Draco achieving his goal?ʼ

ʻBy faithfully following the Dark Lordʼs order,ʼ Lucius answered, his tone mechanical as if he had long training in saying such sentences.

Cissy lowered her eyes and stayed silent for a long time while her husband watched her anxiously. Just as he tentatively stretched out his hand towards her arm, she drew back and sprang to her feet, making him wince at the sudden shift of his mattress. She walked back to the little table, keeping her face averted from him. Trying to sit up, he watched her silently, desperately. He could see her shoulders shaking, but even his half sitting position was too painful and he had to let himself fall back on his bed even though that made it more difficult to watch her.

ʻTed Tonks is dead,ʼ Cissy said to some random point on the table before her. ʻDolohov and Jugson got him about three days ago, Bella told me.ʼ

ʻThatʼs... good, isnʼt it?ʼ he dared to venture after a second in which he had forgotten to breathe.

ʻYes,ʼ said his wife, still averting to look at him. ʻI suppose thatʼs good...ʼ

She sank towards the table, only straightening up just before she would have touched the furniture, and spun on her heels to face him. Tears were running down her cheeks as she strode over to his bed, collapsing next to him so that under any other circumstances he would have groaned with pain, but now was reduced to watch her helplessly, so much at a loss that he forgot his physical pain.

ʻWhat-ʼ she sobbed, ʻwhat would I do if... you... you and Draco, youʼre all I have. I canʼt... not without you...ʼ

ʻWeʼll rise again,ʼ said Lucius, trying to sound soothing though he was far closer to being just as tearful as his wife. ʻSomehow Iʼll be needed again and I can help Draco again and youʼll have nothing to worry about...ʼ His voice drifted off as his wife just continued sobbing. He managed to turn on the side to lay an arm around her shaking shoulders and continued, ʻEven if... I should be... discarded... your sister will look after you-ʼ

ʻDromeda will never forgive me,ʼ mumbled Cissy.

Lucius stared at her, eyes wide with shock. His mouth fell open, but no words came out. At last, he obviously deemed it best to remain silent. Biting back any sound of pain, he closed his wife in his arms. Slowly, her sobs died down and, at last, her breathing became even. Lucius lay awake with his sleeping spouse in his arms, his eyes on the canopy above him, not sure whether sleep would not come to him because of his uncomfortable position or his beloved wifeʼs new and dangerous speculations.

* * *

 _A/N I did read on the wiki that Ted was killed by Snatchers, but couldnʼt find it in the book so... I wanted to give him some last dignity by having been taken down by great duellists._


	3. Winky Witnesses

_Mais il me faut te perdre après lʼavoir perdu_

 _Cet effort sur ma flamme à mon honneur est dû;_

 _Et cet affreux devoir, dont lʼordre mʼassassine,_

 _Me force à travailler moi-même à ta ruine._

Pierre Corneille, _Le Cid_.

* * *

With care and relish Winky buttered the toasts, arranging them artfully on the plate before her. It felt good to have proper house-elf work to occupy herself with again - though, as she admitted herself – it was rather unusual to make food in the Great Hall. While busily preparing the toasts, she looked around with interest. She had seldom been up here before, working in the kitchen during the day and mostly in the Hufflepuff common room at night. She blinked up to the clear sky visible on the ceiling; lowering her eyes, she saw the students celebrating, reunited with their family.

Placing the last slice of toast on the plate, she sent it up into the air and let it glide gently down before an assembly of chatting students and their parents. Her instincts let her enjoy the cheerful sight only for a moment before she began to scan the hall again in search for a new task to busy her hands with.

Hasty steps approached the spot where she was sitting. Winky turned and saw a woman hastening towards her, a small bundle in her arms. Winky recognised the look of frozen horror on the womanʼs face, she had seen it far too often this morning. Winky glanced up the aisle to where many people lay as if they were asleep, many without a visible injury.

The woman was already past Winky when she stopped abruptly and turned to the elf, extending the bundle she was carrying towards her.

ʻCould you hold him for a moment?ʼ she said roughly, clearly not in control of her voice.

Winky reached out and took the burden from the woman whose face was contorted with pain as she staggered on towards the dead. Winky looked down to see what she was holding despite having already felt it. A little baby boy, not even a month old as Winky could easily tell, lay in her arms, fast asleep. With a mixture of delight and woe, Winky contemplated the baby, softly rocking him.

It had been a long time since she had last held a baby, and that baby was no more. Sudden tears blinded her view as she remembered the horrible moment when she had seen the boy again she had once nursed. Yes, horrible, a horrible meeting that had been. How these dreadful things had been possible to happen, she still did not understand. She had loved and honoured both Master and Master Barty; all she could do was shy away from the fact that the boy who once lay in her arms like the baby now had murdered her master, his father.

She looked over to check on the woman who had given her the baby, but her sight was so diminished by tears that she couldnʼt make her out. Despite the sorrow from which she suffered now, Winky knew that her present reaction to the gruesome happenings in her old family was far milder than it had been only a year ago. Dobbyʼs constant support had finally made her bear the past, the shame, the grief. And now it seemed that Dobby was dead too as she had heard from the innkeeper whom she had asked a short time ago. She grieved for her friend for this Dobby had been; and friendship among house-elves was so incredibly rare - being often impossible because of the distances and dependant on their familiesʼ degree of closeness - that she had valued it like nothing else apart from her work.

The baby whimpered and Winky bent down and softly hummed to him. The baby wrinkled his nose but stayed asleep. Winky surveyed the crowd in the hall again. A pale woman with very blonde hair she had not noticed before was standing not far away from her, looking as if she wanted to move forward but dared not. Her guilty expression singled her out in the crowd. A short way from her stood a man before a bench with a little assembly of students. He seemed to wish to hold the woman back.

Winky turned her head in the other direction again, the same the pale woman was looking to. She thought she could now make out the woman who had given her the baby, kneeling over one of the dead. The elf wondered whether she was the mother of the boy, she had looked a bit old. But her face had been in such pain that it was hard to tell.

Winky looked down at the baby, cradling him. There was a small tuft of hair on his forehead, coloured bright green. As Winky looked, the baby gave a sneezed lightly and his nose elongated a little, shrinking back almost instantaneously. The boyʼs hair suddenly had a bluish tinge.

Fascinated, Winky continued to watch the constant small changes in the babyʼs appearance. A voice, a little too loud and uncontrolled, distracted her after a while. Looking up, Winky saw the woman who had given her the boy shake her head at Professor McGonagall. Turning, she started down the aisle towards Winky, walking with difficulty and her face still a masque of agony. Winky lifted the baby a bit, so that it would be easily visible for the poor woman. Like Winky had intended, her face brightened up a bit seeing the little boy.

The woman was only a step away from her and Winky was ready to hand her the baby back when the woman whipped around as if hit by an electric current.

The woman with the guilty face had approached and laid a hand on the otherʼs arm, her look imploring. The reaction of the woman amazed Winky. She jumped away several steps, staring at the blonde with shock. The pale woman made a hesitant step forwards and the otherʼs face darkened, the grief being replaced by rage. She suddenly bore a shocking resemblance to the Death Eater whose corpse had already been removed from the hall. For a long while, the two women faced each other, the pale one half extending her hand, the other looking ready to kill.

ʻDrommy...ʼ the pale one finally whimpered.

ʻHow dare you!ʼ the other woman bellowed, her voice also reminding Winky of the Death Eater. ʻHow dare you come here to sully my lament!ʼ

ʻDromeda...ʼ repeated the woman even more pathetically.

ʻWhy havenʼt they put you in Azkaban yet where you belong?ʼ cried Dromeda, looking increasingly hysterical and mad. Fighting to keep calm herself, Winky rocked the baby faster as he started to stir uncomfortably.

The man who had looked at the pale woman before tiptoed to her and tried to draw her back, but she shook her head and waved him back. Obediently, he retreated to his former place, keeping his eyes on the two women.

ʻOr have you come here,ʼ Dromeda called out, sneering insanely, ʻbecause you want to slime your way out of prison?ʼ The woman cackled wildly. ʻThen youʼve chosen the wrong person. You think you can celebrate my husbandʼs death and dance around my daughterʼs body, and I would fall around your neck in gratitude. No!ʼ She let out another squeal of crazed laughter. ʻYou will despair and _I_ shall glory in your ruin.ʼ

The womanʼs voice pitched and she rasped, clutching her chest and breathing heavily. Winky stared at her, torn between shock and the wish to help.

ʻDrommy, I never...ʼ started the other again, wringing both hands.

The dark woman snorted harshly, but seemed to calm down. She straightened up and looked arrogantly at the other. ʻYou think,ʼ she said at a normal volume but her voice full of contempt, ʻthat you can come up here and say "Drommy!"ʼ (she said the name in a high-pitched, baby voice) ʻand I would forgive you like that for twenty-five years of silence?ʼ She snorted sarcastically. ʻNo Cissy, look for another stupid to sweeten with your falsity. You have not talked to me for a quarter of a century; now itʼs my turn.ʼ

The woman wanted to strut past her towards Winky, who slightly trembled upon seeing her approach still full of fury, but Cissy stumbled in her way, trying to reach for her. Dromeda immediately backed away again, her hand flying in her robes.

ʻI...ʼ started Cissy who was now with her back to Winky so that she couldnʼt see her expression. ʻI never...ʼ

ʻGet out of my way.ʼ The dark woman had drawn her wand, her expression immobile and almost like her former mask of pain.

ʻYouʼre still my sister!ʼ Cissy exclaimed.

ʻFunny of you to discover this after all these years.ʼ The mad smile shortly returned on the womanʼs face. ʻHave you ever considered the possibility that I might have forgotten in the mean time?ʼ

ʻI wanted to-ʼ

ʻYou wanted to - what?ʼ barked Drommy, slapping her wand on her free hand so that some sparks flew from it. ʻI donʼt care about your invented excuses. I may have been spared your sight and sound for a long time, but I remember enough. Why should you be sorry? Iʼll tell you why. Because itʼs of use to you. Well, sister, _you_ are of no use to me. So get out of my way, or Iʼll make you.ʼ

The baby in Winkyʼs arms budged again, sleepily opening his eyes and whimpering slightly.

Both women looked over in synchrony.

The darker put back her wand, shoved her sister out of the way, and walked towards Winky like in trance, the other moving after her. Winky continued to rock the baby, looking up at the woman and feeling very uncomfortable. She didnʼt think it safe to hand over something as frail as a baby to someone with such a temper. But the womanʼs expression had completely softened as she smiled down at Winky.

ʻHow is my grandson?ʼ she asked.

ʻF...fine, madam, Winky thinks,ʼ answered the elf, her voice quivering slightly.

ʻCould I have him back, Winky?ʼ said Drommy, not seeming to notice her sister who had stepped to her side and looked at the baby too with a charmed expression.

It was past Winky to even consider the possibility of disobeying a witch and, relatively reassured by the womanʼs calmness, immediately handed the baby over to her.

ʻThank you,ʼ said the woman with a smile before she bent over her grandson, rocking him gently in her arms. The pale woman had moved close enough to be able to gaze down at the baby too, and both women showed an identical expression of rapturous delight. Winky was astounded at how similar they suddenly looked, yet also disquieted, fearing that the darker would notice the pale and start to rant again.

The boy whimpered, the sound slowly growing louder.

ʻWhatʼs the matter, Teddy?ʼ fluted his grandmother. ʻDo you need new nappies?ʼ

ʻOr are you hungry?ʼ crooned the other, startling Winky again by the similarity of their voices. She had a moment of anxiety when the dark woman flinched at her sisterʼs words and a shadow of fury flitted over her face. But this was almost instantaneously replaced by a troubled expression.

ʻHow am I to feed him now?ʼ she asked, grabbing the otherʼs hand. ʻWhat am I to do?ʼ

ʻYou must ask the midwife,ʼ said her former antagonist, laying an arm around her shoulder. ʻThey know about these things. You are familiar with the midwife?ʼ

ʻYes, yes youʼre right,ʼ said the other nervously. ʻLucina must know.ʼ

ʻOh, Lucina will certainly know, sheʼs got so many countless years of experience. She told me what to do when I didnʼt have enough milk.ʼ

ʻYou poor dear, what did you do?ʼ

ʻOh, that was a Replenishing spell, so that doesnʼt apply here. But Lucina will certainly know something.ʼ The woman kept her eyes fixed on the baby. ʻWhy on earth did you dye his hair blue?ʼ

ʻThatʼs Teddy himself, Dora was like that too.ʼ With a half suppressed cry she broke into tears, leaning on her sisterʼs shoulder who softly stroked her back, muttering ʻpoor dear.ʼ Winky hastily Apparated to get a supply of handkerchieves from the wash house and was back before the women had moved.

When her sobs had died down, Dromeda slowly lifted her head and looked around, wincing slightly as she saw the woman next to her as if she had forgotten her presence. Winky stretched out her arm to hand over a handkerchief. The grandmother shifted the babyʼs weight and leaned forward to take it with a weak smile, simultaneously trying to shake off her sister, but looking less furious than resentful.

ʻDonʼt you think that a bit of acting will move me,ʼ she growled, burying her face in the handkerchief.

The other kept her arm around her sisterʼs shoulder and put her arm under the babyʼs body along the otherʼs arm. ʻPoor dear, poor dear,ʼ she continued to mutter and Winky thought she saw tears falling from her eyes too. Winky hastily counted the number of handkerchieves she had ready.

ʻLiar,ʼ snarled the grandmother but didnʼt move away. Then, very slowly, she freed one arm from the baby and laid it around the otherʼs shoulder, causing the other to break openly into tears. Winky looked up at the spectacle, only her discipline preventing her from shaking her head.

ʻWhy am I plagued with such perjurious sisters,ʼ talked the grandmother on, equally crying again and arm in arm with the other.

ʻMy poor, poor Drommy,ʼ sobbed the sister on. ʻHow did you deserve this? Itʼs so unfair.ʼ

ʻYouʼre such a dissembling liar, I donʼt believe a word youʼre saying,ʼ moaned the other. ʻDo we want to take a walk?ʼ

ʻAnything you want,ʼ whimpered her sister.

The grandmother looked over to Winky. ʻDo you have more-ʼ

Taken completely aback but life-long service guiding her, Winky held out a whole stack of handkerchieves which the woman took with a smile.

ʻThank you. Come, Cissy.ʼ

Winky watched after them as the women ambled out of the hall with the baby, arm in arm. She looked over to where the man of the pale woman stood. He gazed after the pair, looking even more baffled than Winky felt.

No longer able to completely deny her sentiments, the house-elf shook her head so that her ears flapped around her face. She got to her feet to Apparate to the kitchen to bring some fruit, wondering at the contradictoriness of human emotions. But all in all, she was definitely glad how that quarrel had ended.

* * *

 _A/N This was one of my earlier pieces. But for some strange reason, my characters always spend a huge amount of time crying... At least the story is not sad through and through, right? Though I did quite avoid the big problems by ending before the real conversation. They are hardly back to normal right now. Probably some other time..._

 _I do have ideas for further stories but none written so far. Thus, I donʼt know when I will upload the next one-shot. They will most likely concern themselves with the childhood/time at school/youth of the sisters._


	4. Leave Me Alone!

_A/N As said before, I make a huge leap backwards to Sirius' first year at school. Not much, but probably enjoyable nevertheless._

* * *

ʻOh no!ʼ

ʻWhat is it, Sirius?ʼ asked James as they descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall, Remus and Peter following.

ʻShhh,ʼ hissed Sirius, jumping behind James and ducking. ʻIʼm not here! Remus, Peter, stand before me.ʼ

ʻWhat?ʼ asked Remus perplexed but complied with his friendʼs order.

ʻDo you think she saw me?ʼ Sirius whispered, peeking over Peterʼs shoulder.

ʻSirius,ʼ said James with slight annoyance, ʻwho has or has not seen you and why are you avoiding her?ʼ

ʻShe saw me sneezing when I entered the Charms classroom,ʼ hissed Sirius, bending his legs so that he would be as short as James. ʻShe! The worst baby-sitter the world has ever seen! Donʼt sell me to her, protect me.ʼ

ʻDonʼt you think,ʼ said Remus patiently, ʻthat you are far more likely to attract her attention by making us block the stairs than by simply going down and enter the Great Hall?ʼ

ʻLetʼs go back to the common room. Pleaaaase!ʼ

ʻAre you mad!ʼ retorted James. ʻThe whole morning these boring classes and when once something good, lunch, is to happen, you want to deprive us of it. Youʼre a Gryffindor. Be brave! For our stomachs!ʼ

ʻWe could get you something if you donʼt want to go inside the Hall,ʼ suggested Remus.

ʻIʼm not a house-elf,ʼ protested James. ʻEither you eat in the Great Hall, or you starve.ʼ

He continued to march down the steps. Peter gave Sirius one curious glance and followed. Remus watched Sirius whimper and clutch the banister. He made one step downstairs and looked back at his friendʼs tortured expression.

ʻShould I get you something?ʼ

Sirius ducked to such an extent that he almost sat on the stair. ʻAt least hide me when we enter the Hall,ʼ he whispered and started to creep down the stairs, careful to have Remus as a shield between himself and the door to the Great Hall.

ʻCome on,ʼ shouted James up to them. ʻIʼm dying of hunger, get going!ʼ

Sirius remained crouched all the way down and then placed himself in the middle of their little group. All the while he tried to appear as small as possible which was anything but an easy task as he was easily the tallest of the four friends. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor in a desperate attempt at invisibility. All the heavier was the blow when a soft voice sounded as soon as he passed the doors to the Great Hall.

ʻSirius, sweetheart, I thought that was you going downstairs. Have you been in the hospital wing?ʼ

Like a hare that a huntsman had frightened out of its hiding place in the meadow, Sirius jumped several feet into the air and instead of continuing to pretend to be invisible, he ran for it. For the Gryffindor table, that is.

His friends stared after him, then they turned to the owner of the voice that had caused such panic in Sirius.

The sixth-year girl, blond, tall and slim, had her eyes on Siriusʼ fleeing back and wore the same perplexed expression as his friends. Slowly, she turned towards the other boys and her features turned from baffled to haughty.

ʻCome on, letʼs join Sirius,ʼ muttered James and wanted to lead the way towards him.

ʻWait a moment, little one,ʼ interrupted the girl, pointedly addressing James and ignoring the other two. ʻDo you know what is bothering my cousin?ʼ

James only shrugged. ʻNope. He suddenly went weird just when we were going down the staircase. Heʼll come around.ʼ

The others quickly following in his steps, James turned and hastened over to the Gryffindor table to join Sirius.

ʻMate, what in the name of Merlinʼs favourite teapot is the matter with you?ʼ he huffed as he dropped down on the bench opposite his best friend.

ʻYouʼve no idea,ʼ Sirius responded darkly.

ʻNo, I havenʼt,ʼ said James. ʻAnd if you canʼt answer normally, I donʼt care. But Iʼve thought that we are friends, the four of us. No secrets.ʼ

ʻNo secrets,ʼ repeated Sirius bitterly. ʻNo secrets. No lies. No stupid, disgusting, idiotic, _stupid_ relatives!ʼ

ʻYouʼve said stupid twice,ʼ remarked Remus, causing Sirius to open his mouth angrily when-

ʻHave you been in the hospital wing, sweetie?ʼ

Siriusʼs face fell on his plate, and he protectively put his hands over his head.

ʻWhatʼs the matter, dear?ʼ fluted the same girl as before who had obviously decided to follow the boys to the Gryffindor table. She put her hands on Siriusʼs shoulders and softly squeezed them.

ʻLeave me alone,ʼ came Siriusʼs muffled voice from the pile of mashed potatoes in which his face was buried.

ʻSweetheart, itʼs important that you go to the hospital wing. A cold is a serious matter and the matron can really help you.ʼ

ʻBugger off!ʼ

ʻSirius!ʼ exclaimed the girl. ʻYour language!ʼ

ʻI hate you.ʼ

The ensuing silence was so long that Sirius finally lifted his face an inch from his lunch and whispered, ʻHas she gone?ʼ

ʻYeah,ʼ answered James while chewing a sausage. ʻAnd youʼre behaving like a real idiot. Thatʼs just your cousin, no need to behave like the worldʼs going to crash down.ʼ

ʻSheʼs trying to help you,ʼ added Remus.

ʻSheʼs stupid!ʼ

ʻReally?ʼ asked Peter. ʻBut youʼre clever.ʼ

ʻSheʼs not stupid like stupid stupid,ʼ complained Sirius as he sat properly up again. ʻSheʼs just-ʼ

There didnʼt seem to be a term that allowed Sirius to say what he wanted to, and he reduced himself to express his feelings by waving his handkerchief wildly around before trying to clean his face from remains of potatoes and gravy. He was so immersed in his attempts to get rid of the food that he took no notice of James whose eyes soon darted to some point behind his friend.

ʻSirius?ʼ

Sirius flinched, but the horror mostly disappeared from his face when he turned to the newcomer. It was a girl again, slightly older than the first. Despite her brown hair and eyes, she bore a definite resemblance not only to the other girl, but also to Sirius who was in the vivid progress of rolling his eyes. ʻWhat is it now?ʼ he complained.

ʻDo you have cold?ʼ

ʻNO!ʼ

ʻI heard you sneeze,ʼ said the blond girl who had kept behind the darker one but now stepped forwards, making Sirius groan. ʻAnd you clearly speak through your nose. Doesnʼt he, Drommy?ʼ

ʻWhy donʼt you want to go to the hospital wing, Sirius?ʼ asked Drommy. ʻThe matronʼs nice and sheʼll just give you some Pepper-up Potion. Thatʼs not bad, really.ʼ

ʻI donʼt need any potions. Iʼm fine.ʼ

ʻYou honestly expect us to think that somebodyʼs fine whoʼs got his lunch everywhere in his face but in his mouth,ʼ stated Drommy dryly.

ʻJust leave me alone! Youʼre as bad as Cissy.ʼ

ʻAnd what are Cissy and I supposed to have done to you to deserve such a qualifier?ʼ asked Drommy with her hands on her hips and a stern expression though she couldnʼt keep the corners of her mouth from twitching.

ʻJust leave me alone,ʼ grumbled Sirius. ʻWhy do you take Cissyʼs side, Dromeda? Thatʼs not fair.ʼ

ʻThe point is not whether I take anybodyʼs side, but whether you need to go to the hospital wing or not. Donʼt you try to lure the conversation away from there, Dog Star.ʼ

James let out a laugh that made him sprinkle Sirius opposite him with pumpkin juice. ʻDog Star?ʼ he snorted.

ʻThanks Dromeda,ʼ pouted Sirius. ʻAnd youʼre asking why I donʼt want you anywhere near me.ʼ

Dromeda kept a straight face for about five seconds, then she cracked up. Laying an arm around her sister who looked scandalized at her behaviour, she hardly managed to stay upright. ʻOh, Sirius,ʼ she finally managed to wheeze, ʻhow I wish youʼll never grow up.ʼ

ʻDrommy!ʼ exclaimed her sister. ʻHeʼs got to learn to behave himself.ʼ

ʻThatʼll be a sad day,ʼ rasped Dromeda. ʻBut Iʼd nevertheless be glad if you went to get yourself checked by the matron. Will you do this for me, Sirius?ʼ

Sirius heaved a sigh and gave James, who was busy cleaning his plate from the pumpkin juice he had spat on, a scathing look. Pretending to ignore Remusʼ encouraging nods and Peterʼs timid expression, he made a face.

ʻWeʼre waiting,ʼ said Dromeda, clapping her hands together in a demonstratively cheerful way.

ʻAll right,ʼ growled Sirius at long last, keeping his eyes on the potato remains on his plate. ʻIʼll go after class. Happy?ʼ

ʻOverjoyed!ʼ exclaimed Dromeda and bent down. Sirius shied away, but she brought her lips close to his ear and whispered so that nobody else could hear, ʻTell Cissy youʼre sorry for how you talked to her, will you?

ʻNice that this is settled,ʼ she added loudly as she straightened up. ʻHave a good lunch. Come Cissy, letʼs return to our table.ʼ

Her arm around her sisterʼs waist, Dromeda left with a broad grin. Sirius looked up and watched them go, muttering, ʻI wonʼt.ʼ

ʻBut you promised,ʼ said Remus. ʻItʼs not right to break promises.ʼ

ʻI havenʼt promised anything!ʼ exclaimed Sirius while James had a new outburst of hilarity.

ʻBut you said youʼd go after class?ʼ objected Peter with a quivery voice.

ʻWhat?ʼ snapped Sirius. ʻOh, the hospital wing. Yeah, yeah, Iʼll go there. Shut up, James.ʼ

At this point, just as Sirius emptied his goblet over his friendʼs head, a Gryffindor prefect intervened. The food fight was prevented on this day.


	5. Kreacher Obedient Disobedient

_A/N I wasnʼt very inspired of late, thatʼs why I put up this older piece. It didnʼt turn out as good as I had hoped, but maybe you'll find it still okay. It features a bit of Cissy, thatʼs why I put it here, but itʼs mostly Kreacher. The elf deserves to have his point of view retold, the poor darling. Em, yeah, this story features a disobedient house-elf, that means self-harm. Just to warn you._

* * *

Kreacher hastened through the hall, past his mistressʼ portray, and the next second he had silently opened the front door and closed it behind him again, shutting himself out into the cold winter night. He gulped dryly. He knew he was not exactly allowed to do what he was planning, but he had to take the chance. He had an order, that occasion, empowering him to restore his familyʼs honour, would not come again soon. He closed his eyes and Apparated away from the dirty crowd, defiling the house he and his ancestors had always served loyally.

When he opened his eyes again, he stood before a tall yew hedge. Kreacher shivered, cold sweat running down his face. If his master knew... But what was his master? A cruel man, a man without feelings who had plunged his good mother in such misery. And even now, when poor mistress was dead, he still defiled her memory with every word, and worse, with all those blood-traitors and Mudbloods, sullying the noble name of Black.

He was the house-elf of the Blacks, and he would do everything in his powers to preserve the honour of their name; that he owed to his poor mistress, his master and most of all - tears sprung out of his eyes spontaneously and mingled with his sweat, stinging on the skin - Master Regulus.

Master Regulus had always been fond of Miss Cissy; Kreacher would soon be able to offer his services to a friend of Master Regulus. For Kreacher had to do anything that might please Master Regulus because Kreacher - had disobeyed orders.

Kreacher pulled at his ears as much as he could and hit his fists on his forehead until his head throbbed from the impact. If he could only tell Miss Cissy about his duty, but that was impossible for Master Regulus had said very clearly not to tell anybody in the family what he had done unless he heard otherwise. But Kreacher would never hear from good Master Regulus again. And what tortured Kreacher most, he didnʼt understand why Master Regulus had done what he had done. But it didnʼt really matter, house-elves were not there to ask but to obey, and Kreacher had disobeyed orders.

Half-blind by tears, Kreacher let his knees crash on the ground and robbed towards a high gate in the shadow of the yew hedge, careful to put as much pressure on his knees as possible to punish himself.

When he reached the gates, he stopped. He had only once been here, many years ago, helping his poor mistress to transport a cupboard for the newly wed Miss Cissy. Would Miss Cissy remember him? He was but a house-elf and couldnʼt aspire to the honour of being remembered. But he had information, and if he managed to communicate so much, he might be blessed with her sight. Now it was night anyway, and Kreacher would not disturb Miss Cissy. He had not the least intention of hurrying back home, where he would have to witness all those blood-traitor children sullying what should be his duty to protect. But Kreacher was not able to, hindered from executing the orders he knew his mistress would give him by his new master, unworthy of the family he was born into.

Kreacher lay on the frosty winter soil for a long time, punishing himself for all his failures, while he waited for the sun to rise.

When it was finally light enough to discern his surroundings in detail, Kreacher started to think about how he would be able to enter the manor. Last time, he had directly Apparated into the dining room, but this would have been disrespectful in his present situation. Shyly, Kreacher laid a hand on the gates, whereupon the iron twisted itself into a face.

ʻState your purpose,ʼ it said in a clanging voice.

ʻKreacher has important information for Miss Cissy,ʼ said the elf, tearing at his ears and his breathing accelerating.

ʻWho are you?ʼ asked the gate.

ʻKreacher,ʼ he said eagerly. ʻThe house-elf of the Blacks. I come from the Headquarters of the - the -ʼ Kreacher panted, he was not strictly disobeying orders already, but he was very close to it. He needed all his strength to add, ʻthe Order of the Phoenix.ʼ

The gates swung open. Kreacher swung himself forward and landed with his nose on the ground behind the gates that closed again immediately. A sob escaped Kreacher. He was so close to disobeying orders and only the certainty that his mistress would approve of him made him crawl on.

The way forwards lasted so long that, when he finally reached the house, his knees, elbows, and nose were scraped bloody from the gravel. Crashing his head forcefully against the steps leading into the house, he came to a halt and pulled himself into a sitting position, looking up at the door.

What happened next appeared to Kreacher like a vision from his sweetest dreams. The door opened and out of it strode a tall, slim woman. She looked down at him in confusion and disgust. Though this hurt Kreacher, he couldnʼt deny that Miss Cissy had every reason to experience these emotions. He had been so long in the most revolting company, someone as noble as Miss Cissy must smell the stench of the Mudbloods populating his poor mistressʼ abode.

Miss Cissy descended the stairs and crouched down before him, scrutinizing him mercilessly. Kreacher stared at her pale face in raptures. In every single line were the noble Black features so visible that tears rose in his eyes, remembering his poor mistress.

ʻWho are you, elf, and what do you want?ʼ she asked at last coldly.

ʻKreacher,ʼ he croaked, overcome with emotion. ʻMiss Cissy, I is Kreacher, the former house-elf of Orion and Walburga Black, now serving against his will the blood-traitorous disappointment their son is, Sirius.ʼ

Miss Cissyʼs eyes widened and the contempt was mingled with shock and something bordering to sorrow. ʻYou... come from Sirius?ʼ she asked at last in disbelief.

ʻMaster said "Out!",ʼ said Kreacher, gripping his ears again. ʻAnd Kreacher followed the order and left the house. And I has come to Miss Cissy, for Kreacher would much rather serve Miss than Master Sirius because Master is a bad boy.ʼ He stopped himself, remembering that a good house-elf was not supposed to be talkative.

Miss Cissy contemplated him with a confused expression. ʻYou have _not_ come on Siriusʼ command?ʼ she ascertained.

ʻKreacher has come because if his poor Mistress knew what is happening in her house, she would be so ashamed,ʼ said Kreacher imploringly. ʻKreacher wants to preserve the honour of the Black family.ʼ

ʻWhy have you come here?ʼ

ʻKreacher wants to tell Miss Cissy all he can about the - the Order of the Phoenix.ʼ

Miss Cissy looked at him for a moment with a frown, then she stood up.

ʻWait here,ʼ she commanded. ʻI have to discuss this.ʼ

Kreacher looked after her as she strutted into the house, and the door closed behind her. He had seen Miss Cissy again, and she had not turned him away. Tears of affection filled his eyes and he felt strengthened. He would be given a chance to preserve the noble name of Black.

He remained on the ice-cold gravel at the bottom of the stairs waiting for about a quarter of an hour, then the door opened again. Kreacher blinked away his tears and, to his utmost delight, saw Miss Cissy standing above him.

ʻCome in,ʼ she ordered.

Kreacher nearly toppled over as he hastened to fulfil the order and entered the house. He felt ashamed when his dirty footprints were clearly visible on the shiny floor, and he didnʼt dare to walk on the carpet. Miss Cissy motioned him to go to the left where a sumptuous staircase let upwards, but Kreacher was shown to an inconspicuous door hidden behind it.

It opened to many narrow stone stairs, and as Kreacher descended, he realised that he was being led to the kitchen, storage rooms, and laundry. They indeed entered the kitchen, and Miss Cissy signalled him to sit on a rickety chair, placed before the chimney.

ʻWait a moment,ʼ she then said before she left him once more.

The tears instantly returned to Kreacherʼs eyes as he sat before the fire and slowly warmed up from being frozen to the bone. Miss Cissy was so considerate, Kreacher fully understood why poor Master Regulus liked her so much. At the same time he was ashamed. When his mistress had been still alive, he had always been such a model elf, and now he feared that he had become quite shameful to behold. An elf represented the family he served and Miss Cissy might take it as an insult. Kreacher had to hope that she would understand how he was ashamed of having to serve such a mean-spirited master. What would his poor mistress say?

Kreacher wiped his hands on the towel he wore, but that was so dirty that it didnʼt improve anything. Kreacher sighed. Once he had kept everything as neat as possible, from the house to himself, and he had been a true artist in the kitchen. At least that was what Master Regulus used to say, while Master Sirius, that bad boy, remained stubbornly silent, piercing poor mistressʼs heart. Now Kreacher had no reason to aspire to be a proper house-elf if this would mean he would have to betray his mistressʼs principles by being polite to filth. Though now he himself looked like that.

Steps came nearer again and Kreacher straightened up. He turned his head towards the stairs, yearning to see Miss Cissy again. Yet, there entered a man first with Miss Cissy closely following. She remained standing several feet away at a large table while the stranger slowly walked towards Kreacher. The man had pale-blond hair, grey eyes, and a rather pointed face; only when he stood right before Kreacher, the elf remembered that this was Mr Malfoy, Miss Cissyʼs husband. Kreacher was ashamed to have forgotten a man of whom Master Regulus had always spoken with much respect.

ʻSo, that is Sirius Blackʼs house-elf,ʼ said the man in a drawling voice, looking over to his wife. ʻAnd it wants to give information.ʼ

ʻThatʼs what he said,ʼ confirmed Miss Cissy and Kreacher nodded violently.

ʻWell, letʼs try,ʼ said the man cooly. ʻWhere is the Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix?ʼ

ʻKreacher cannot tell,ʼ squeaked the elf, highly embarrassed about his answer. ʻKreacher is not Secret Keeper. And Master forbid Kreacher to speak of-ʼ

ʻIf it can say nothing, I donʼt know what it wants here,ʼ said Mr Malfoy reproachfully to Miss Cissy. ʻProbably itʼs been sent here as a spy!ʼ

ʻOh no,ʼ exclaimed Kreacher, terrified. ʻI has always served the family of Black, and now that Master Sirius defiles the noble house of his ancestors, Kreacher had to do something for the honour of his mistress, and good Master Regulus, and-ʼ

ʻQuiet,ʼ said Mr Malfoy in a bored tone and turning to his wife added, ʻWhat do you think of it?ʼ

ʻI havenʼt seen him since Aunt Walburgaʼs death,ʼ said Miss Cissy quietly, looking reminiscently at Kreacher who let out a sob at the mention of his mistress.

ʻThatʼs not the question here,ʼ said Mr Malfoy, frowning at his wife. ʻI asked whether you consider it likely that the servant of Sirius Black would betray him.ʼ

ʻI... Kreacher was always a good house-elf-ʼ

ʻMeaning?ʼ said Mr Malfoy a bit louder to drown Kreacherʼs sob at Miss Cissyʼs praise.

ʻKreacher must obey any order from a member of the family,ʼ said Miss Cissy slowly. ʻSo he would also have to follow my orders. But Sirius is his actual proprietor, so his commands would be more binding than mine. Nevertheless, Sirius would run a rather great risk if he sent the elf to me... You have come explicitly to me, havenʼt you?ʼ

ʻKreacher came to the only member of the Black family who has not disgraced the family like Master Sirius and that shameless girl. Kreacher would much rather serve Miss Cissy than Master Sirius. He broke poor Mistressʼ heart running away.ʼ Kreacher sneezed into his towel.

Miss Cissy contemplated him with big eyes while Mr Malfoy looked increasingly dissatisfied. ʻSo it just came here for old timeʼs sake?ʼ he said testily.

ʻNo!ʼ exclaimed the elf. ʻKreacher can say things, I has observed a lot, and Master has not forbidden all. Kreacher might still know something to help Miss Cissy.ʼ

ʻSo,ʼ drawled Mr Malfoy. ʻThen letʼs make a last attempt. Do you know anything about Harry Potter?ʼ

ʻThe Potter boy is at Headquarters now,ʼ said Kreacher eagerly. ʻMaster Sirius had just welcomed him and the blood-traitor brats, when he said "Out!" to Kreacher.ʼ

ʻThat canʼt be,ʼ cut in Miss Cissy. ʻThe holidays only begin tomorrow.ʼ

ʻYes, but Master said something about their father is dying, and that this old man would send them.ʼ

ʻBlood-traitor brats?ʼ interrupted Mr Malfoy, betraying interest for the first time. ʻThe Weasleys?ʼ

ʻYes,ʼ croaked Kreacher eagerly. ʻTheir father is dying.ʼ

ʻHow did they find out?ʼ said Mr Malfoy lowly to himself before he addressed Kreacher again. ʻDumbledore sent Potter and the Weasleys to the headquarter which is also the abode of Sirius Black? So they should be somewhere in London as Black accompanied them to the train station.ʼ

Kreacher nodded. ʻMaster and the Potter boy are very fond of each other.ʼ

ʻAre they?ʼ asked Mr Malfoy with a smile. ʻWell, well I start to believe that it could be of use. Harry Potter is very close to Sirius Black, that is an interesting piece of news.ʼ

ʻYou donʼt want to harm Sirius?ʼ asked Miss Cissy.

ʻWhy not?ʼ said Mr Malfoy musingly. ʻBlack is known for being reckless, if we got him into our hands, Potter might be tempted to even more recklessness. Well, we certainly have to hear more to be able to deduce things.ʼ He looked up and saw his wifeʼs troubled expression. ʻYou donʼt want to tell me that youʼve got a problem with that?ʼ

ʻI...ʼ said Miss Cissy hesitantly, her eyes on Kreacher. ʻHe was such a funny little boy... and he is the last of the Blacks. If heʼd be no more, then our family will be... extinct.ʼ

Mr Malfoy looked at his wife with slight annoyance. ʻHe is as good as dead anyway,ʼ he said. ʻOr do you see any chance that he will go on to marry and have children who will not be as much of a blemish as their father? But if you donʼt like it, Iʼm sure weʼll find a way to get to Potter without worrying about Black. And now I need to inform the Dark Lord.ʼ

ʻSir!ʼ exclaimed Kreacher. ʻDonʼt tell the Dark Lord too much about me. Just that I is Master Sirius' house-elf.ʼ

ʻWhy should I say anything else ?ʼ sneered Mr Malfoy. ʻBy the way, does it have to go back immediately?ʼ

ʻKreacher doesnʼt think Master will miss him,ʼ said Kreacher when Miss Cissy looked at him questioningly. ʻMaster doesnʼt care about Kreacher like a good master should care about his house-elf. He is such a disappointment. If poor Mistress could see him!ʼ

ʻVery well, then it can stay here and cook over Christmas, then weʼre rid of this inconvenience that Potter...ʼ Shaking his head, Mr Malfoy turned on the spot and strutted out of the kitchen.

Kreacher looked over to Miss Cissy, considering it proper to receive an order only from her even though he would love to obey.

ʻKreacher,ʼ Miss Cissy said after a short pause. ʻI want you to stay here for a couple of days as if you were our house-elf. Is this compatible with what Sirius has said?ʼ

Kreacher nodded, tears of happiness filling his eyes. ʻAll Kreacher wants,ʼ he croaked, ʻis to serve the noble house of Black.ʼ


End file.
